


Visions Are Seldom All They Seem

by mikkimouse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Werewolf Culture, Werewolf Mates, dumb supper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkimouse/pseuds/mikkimouse
Summary: Whenever a full moon coincides with Christmas Eve, werewolves can prepare a dumb supper to receive a vision of their mate.It's been years since Derek believed in that magic, but when the full moon falls on Christmas Eve for the first time in his life, he can't stop himself from giving it a try.





	Visions Are Seldom All They Seem

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from rhysiana's [post about dumb suppers](https://rhysiana.dreamwidth.org/2436.html), which is amazing and the whole thing is a fic prompt waiting to happen. As soon as I read it, I couldn't shake the thought of it being a werewolf tradition. 
> 
> Title is from "Once Upon a Dream," mostly because it was stuck in my head.
> 
> Thanks to bleep0bleep for reading it over (and for getting the aforementioned song stuck in my head)!

"You know, the full moon's on Christmas Eve this year," Cora says casually when they pull into the parking garage.

Derek turns off the car and looks over at her. "Okay?" 

She shrugs half-heartedly. "Just saying. I know you were always into that sort of thing." 

Derek takes the keys out of the ignition, but doesn't get out of the car. "That was a long time ago."

"Okay." Cora nods. "First one to the apartment gets to pick what we watch on Netflix?" 

Derek lets her win.

***

When he was little, Derek loved listening to stories of supernatural lore. Most were more myth than anything by this point, but every single story had a kernel of truth in its roots. It was fun to try to figure out what that kernel of truth was, but usually, Derek was more fascinated by the legends that had built up around those truths, which had grown into traditions werewolves held dear.

One of Derek's favorites was the tradition of the dumb supper. It was said if a werewolf set out a meal for two on Christmas Eve during a full moon, then at midnight they would receive a vision of their mate. Some stories had it that the mate appeared in the flesh, others held that it would come in a dream, and still others said they would only hear their mate's voice. 

He was so enthralled by the story that when he was ten, Derek sneaked out of his bed and set out a dumb supper in the kitchen thirty minutes before midnight. Mom caught him, but she wasn't angry. 

"It's not a full moon, Derek," she said. "The magic won't work. You'll have to be patient. And who knows? You may well meet your mate before then." 

Derek doubted it, but every Christmas Eve after that, he thought about the dumb supper and about the year he could finally try it. 

Then his family died, and finding his mate was the last thing on his mind.

***

After leaving Beacon Hills behind for good, Derek found Cora and together, they moved to a town—a small city, really—in New England. Derek loves it up here, loves how different it is from California both in weather and culture. There's less here to remind him about the bad times, and even after three years, he can't get over how vibrant and beautiful it is in the fall. 

Now, though, the leaves have mostly fallen from the trees, they're on their third snowfall of the year, and every day they creep closer to Christmas Eve. 

Derek didn't have any plans aside from making a huge pot of beef stew, exchanging gifts with Cora, and binge-watching Hallmark Christmas movies while they sipped mulled wine. But now that she's mentioned that the full moon is on Christmas Eve, he can't stop thinking about a dumb supper. 

It's stupid. With everything that's happened, he's not sure if he believes in mates anymore. He's not sure if he even wants a mate. And, on particularly bad nights, he's not sure if he _deserves_ a mate. 

He finds himself picking up two steaks at the grocery store anyway. Cora eyes him significantly, but doesn't say a word.

***

The human tradition of dumb suppers involves nothing more than a properly set table and a loaf of bread. Derek always thought that was silly. Dumb suppers were supposed to open a bridge between you and your _mate_. They should have more ceremony to them than a loaf of bread. 

Different packs have different traditions, but the common thread in all the stories was an intimate meal set for two, with some kind of meat and a glass of wine at each place. A werewolf has to show the moon that they can provide for their mate, and once the moon is satisfied, she'll grant them the knowledge of who it is. 

Derek starts preparing the meal after Cora goes to bed. He grills the steaks, roasts the vegetables, and gets out the bottle of red wine. While the steaks are resting, he puts out the only nice tablecloth they have—a plain red one—and sets the table with the best dishes they own and two tapered candles. It's not his mother's fine china, but it's good enough. At least, he hopes it will be. 

With fifteen minutes to midnight, Derek plates both meals, pours two glasses of wine, and lights the candles. He sits down to wait. 

There's nothing left to do now except hope the stories are true, hope he's done enough. He can't decide if he wants to see who his mate is or if he really hopes the stories are just that. He's either excited or anxious or afraid of what he'll see, or maybe it's all three. Or maybe he'll see nothing at all. 

He tries to put the last idea out of his mind.

At five minutes to midnight, Derek acknowledges, privately, that there's only one face he hopes to see. If mates are real, if the dumb supper will reveal his...then there's only one person he wants it to be. 

The clock ticks over to midnight, and Derek holds his breath, waiting for the vision. 

Fifteen seconds later, his phone rings. 

He's frustrated for as long as it takes him to flip the phone over and see that it's Stiles calling. 

Derek's heart stops and he scrambles to answer. "Hello?" 

"Hey, Derek." 

Stiles's voice sounds rough, like he's tired, but it's still one of the most welcome things Derek's heard all month. All year, if he's being honest. "Hey, Stiles. How are you?" 

"Eh, I'm fine," Stiles says. "Just home for the holidays. How are you doing? Staying warm up there deep in the frozen north?" 

"We're in New England." 

"Still counts as the frozen north." 

Derek can hear the smile in Stiles's voice, and it makes him smile in return. "We only have five inches of snow on the ground right now." 

"Oh, _only_." Stiles snorts. "Do you know how much snow we have on the ground here? Nothing. Zip. Zero. No white Christmases for Beacon Hills." 

Derek laughs quietly. It's not _that_ funny, but it's been a long time since they talked. It's good to hear from him. 

Although why Stiles is calling him at _midnight_... 

"Is everything okay?" Derek asks. 

"Yeah," Stiles says. "It's fine. Why wouldn't it be?" 

"Because it's midnight here," Derek says. 

"Oh shit." He thinks he can hear Stiles facepalm. "I completely forgot about the time zones. I'm sorry, dude, you were probably asleep." 

"I wasn't," Derek assures him. "Not for another half-hour, anyway. You sure everything's okay?" 

"Yeah. I just..." Stiles sighs. "I just wanted to say hi and wish you a merry Christmas. You know. Since that's what you're supposed to do at Christmas." 

Derek's kind of glad Stiles isn't here to see the goofy smile on his face. "You're supposed to wish people a merry Christmas at Christmas? I'll alert the media." 

" _No_ , you asshole, you're supposed to wish the people you care about a merry Christmas." 

Everything seems to slow, and not for the first time, Derek _hates_ that he's on the phone, that he can't see Stiles's face or hear his heartbeat or smell him. What he _can_ hear is Stiles's quickened breathing, but that's all. Without the rest of it, he can't figure out what it means. 

Except...

Except he's sitting at the dumb supper he prepared, hoping to have a vision of his mate. Maybe it was never going to be a vision. Maybe it was always going to just be fate reaching across the distance between them and giving a little nudge. 

Derek closes his eyes and breathes deep. 

"Sorry," Stiles finally says, breaking the silence. "That was—" 

"I miss you," Derek cuts him off. "I've been missing you. It's my only regret about moving out here. I couldn't stay in Beacon Hills, but..." 

_But I would've stayed for you. If you'd asked, I would've stayed without hesitating._

Derek can't say it, but it feels like there's no other way to finish that sentence. Besides, Stiles has always been good at hearing what he doesn't say. 

On the other end of the phone, Stiles sucks in a breath and stays worryingly silent. It's probably too much to admit. Derek probably should've started smaller, but it's all out in the open now.

"I miss you, too," Stiles finally says, and his voice is thick. "I've really, really missed you."

"Why don't you come out here to visit?" Derek asks impulsively. 

There's a pause before Stiles answers. "What, really?" 

Derek rolls his eyes, even though Stiles can't see it. "No, I'm joking. _Yes_ , really." 

"Dude, I can't afford a cross-country plane ticket." 

"I'll buy your ticket," Derek says. "It'll be your Christmas gift. If...if you wanted to come."

"Of course I want to come," Stiles says softly. "I'd really like that. If Cora's not going to rip my throat out for setting foot on your property." 

Derek laughed. "She might growl a little, but that's all. Besides, I'll protect you."

"Sure you will, big guy," Stiles says, but he sounds fond. 

It warms the center of Derek's chest, and he wishes they weren't on opposite sides of the country. 

"Well, Dad's yelling at me," Stiles says. "They're about to start White Christmas." 

"Is that a yearly tradition?" Derek asks. 

"Yeah. It's Dad's favorite." Stiles scoffs. "Mine, too, at this point. Scott and I learned the 'Sisters' dance when we were, like, twelve." 

Derek can picture it. "Did you have fans?" 

"Even better. We had wrapping paper tubes." 

Derek's glad he isn't drinking anything, because he laughs so hard he'd have choked.

He hears the sheriff's muffled voice over the phone, and Stiles calls out, "I'll be right there!" before he goes back to the phone. "Sorry. I've got to go. Merry Christmas, Derek." 

Derek smiles at the phone. "Merry Christmas, Stiles. I'll see you soon?" 

"Yeah." Stiles sounds happy about it. "See you soon." 

Derek hangs up and looks at the dinner, at the candles flickering and the untouched meal. Through the window over the sink, the light of the full moon pours into the kitchen. He thinks about that first dumb supper he made when he was a kid, thinks about his mother's smile and her words and how he had to wait for the magic to work. 

_Who knows? You may well meet your mate before then._  
  
Of course she was right. His mother was always right. 

Derek picks up his glass of wine and walks to the window, cranes his head so he can see the moon too bright in the sky above. He raises his glass to her. "Thank you." 

Maybe it's just his imagination, but Derek thinks he can feel the moon's _you're welcome_ in his bones. 

He blows out the candles, puts the food away, and heads back to his bedroom. He should probably go to sleep, but he can't just yet. 

After all, he's got a flight to book.

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mad_madam_m)  
> [Tumblr](https://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/)  
> [Dreamwidth](https://mad-madam-m.dreamwidth.org/)  
> [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/mad-madam-m)


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